never said a word about Gunther or anyone else.”
“Still, you don’t think Gunther could be involved?”
“Maybe. But I don’t picture Mullins going out to the cemetery to meet him at the crack of dawn. And even if he did, how would Gunther have gotten the body into a coffin buried six feet deep in firm, undisturbed earth?”
“Let me think about that while I type up the bills,” she said. Marry was never one to admit defeat.
I waited around the hospital that afternoon until Doc Prouty completed the autopsy on old Hiram. There were no surprises. “Fully dressed except for collar and tie,” he said as he washed up in the autopsy room. “It was a large, deep wound that encompassed the chest and heart. Went in under the rib cage, slanting up.”
“What could make a wound like that? A broadsword?.
He chuckled. “Northmont isn’t quite that far behind the times. There must be a lot of gardening tools around at the cemetery. I suppose a hedge trimmer could have done it.”
“Can you estimate the time of death?”
“He’d eaten breakfast maybe an hour before he died.”
“Breakfast?”
“Looks like toast and scrambled eggs.”
“I was out there before nine.”
A shrug. “People the age of Mullins, living alone, sometimes eat breakfast at four in the morning. I’d say he could have been killed anywhere between five and nine a.m., judging by the body temperature and such.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
I was halfway out the door when he said, “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“With a wound like this, there’s no way the killer could have moved the body without getting blood on his clothes.”
I phoned Sheriff Lens with the advance word on the autopsy results. I also told him about the blood. “Didn’t notice blood on Gunther or any of his workmen,” was his comment.
“Of course not. The killing couldn’t have happened while I was there.”
“Hiram Mullins drove a fancy Lincoln. Had one long as I can remember. We found it parked in his driveway.”
“Well?”
“How’d he get out to the cemetery, Doc? He sure didn’t walk at his age. Not in the dark.”
It was only a couple of miles, and certainly walkable, but I admitted it was unlikely for someone like Mullins. That meant he’d probably been driven to the spot by his killer. It had been someone he knew and trusted to get him out that early in the morning. Would Earl Gunther have called him? One of the board members?
I finished talking to the sheriff and told Mary she could go home. I stayed awhile longer, puzzling over the life and death of a man I’d barely known, a silent man I’d seen four times a year and barely nodded to. I wondered if that ignorance was his fault or mine.
“Dr Hawthorne?”
I looked up at the sound of my name and saw a young woman standing in the doorway. The light from the hall was at her back and it took me an instant to recognize Linda Gunther, Earl’s wife. “Can I help you?” I asked, certain the reason for her visit must be medical.
“I just wanted to speak with you about Earl, and about what happened this morning. I hear there’s a meeting-”
“Sit down. I was just closing for the day.”
“I know my husband has been in trouble with the cemetery board before. He was worried about losing his job. Now, with what happened this morning, he’s afraid of being arrested.”
“We have no reason to believe Earl is implicated in the killing. I was there the whole time the coffins were being disinterred. If he’d done anything unusual, I’d have noticed.”
“But some of the others have never liked him.”
“I don’t know that that’s true. He’s always done his job.”
“Is there anything I can do to help him?”
“Just tell the truth if Sheriff Lens has any questions. Did anything unusual happen this morning, for instance?”
“Nothing. Earl got up around seven and I fixed him breakfast. Then he walked over to the Brewster gravesite.”
“What did you two have for breakfast?”
“Juice, cereal, toast, coffee. He has the same thing every morning.”
“No eggs?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered. You didn’t hear any unusual noises during the night or early morning?”
“No. Should I have?”
“If Hiram Mullins was murdered in the cemetery he might have screamed or cried out.”
“We didn’t hear anything.”
I remembered what Doc Prouty had said about the blood. “What was your husband wearing when he went out?”
“His work overalls, like always.”
“Did he have more than one pair?”
“He keeps an extra down at the tool shed.”
I tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Mrs Gunther. We’re having a special meeting of the cemetery board in the morning, but it’s not to take any action against your husband. We’ll be talking about a replacement for Mullins.”
“And Earl-?”
“-has nothing to worry about if he isn’t involved in the killing. He won’t be blamed just because it happened in the cemetery.”
Linda Gunther allowed herself a cautious smile. “Thank you, Dr Hawthorne. I appreciate that.”
After she’d gone I decided for the first time that she was a fairly attractive woman. Surely she could have done better than Earl Gunther for a husband, but then the ways of love and marriage are sometimes strange.
I had two hospital patients to visit in the morning, both recovering nicely from mild heart attacks. Then I checked in with Mary at the office and told her I’d be driving out to the cemetery for the board meeting. “I thought that wasn’t till eleven o’clock,” she said.
“I want to get there early and nose around, especially in the tool shed.”
“Do you know how it was done?”
“Pure magic,” I told her with a grin.
When I arrived at Spring Glen the morning sun was filtering through the spring leaves, bathing the place in a soft, inviting glow. I was an hour early for the meeting and I was surprised to find I wasn’t the first to arrive. Virginia Taylor’s sporty convertible occupied one of the parking spaces, though she was nowhere in sight.
I avoided the red-brick superintendent’s house where Gunther and his wife lived and headed down the gently curving road toward the tool shed. Off in the distance I could see a couple of workmen removing some limbs from a tree ravaged by winter storms. The shed was unlocked, as it usually was
